The Patient In Room 17
by VeniaAmuletum
Summary: The end of the war leaves St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in desperate need of healers. Thus, a terrified Cho Chang finds herself, with only one year of training under her belt, in charge of an entire floor for a day... Hard times call for creative measures, and some wounds need a little rule-breaking in order to heal...
1. Part 1

**A/N: **Give it a chance. She's not my favorite either, but she grew on me as I got to know her through writing. ;)

Also, this IS a one-shot, because it just follows one day and night in Cho's life, but I broke it into three parts because it just felt right!

(All things created by J.K. Rowling.)

* * *

**The Patient In Room 17**

Part One: Tiny Acts of Kindness

* * *

It was a quarter to eight when Cho apparated from the absolute chaos of Wizarding London, into the even greater chaos of the St. Mungo's arrivals room.

Once she had acclimated to the sound of utter confusion trapped inside of high stone walls, she was able to pick out the slightly more organized sound of Hippocrates Smethwyck gathering all the Healers together, and managed to excuse herself through the crowd to join them. Palms sweating cooly, she slinked into place among them as inconspicuously as she could, trying her best to take in what he was saying without giving away her complete sense of panic.

She took the lime green robes that were passed out, and changed in a rush in an empty storage room with a few other girls. Opening the door, she tried to make her exit like she was a professional and had not just pulled borrowed robes on, over her oldest and ugliest slip, in a closet.

She made her way up to her assigned ward- Fourth Floor, Spell Damage. The hospital was in such overcrowded pandemonium that she actually suspected that _most _of the floors were dedicated to Spell Damage at the moment, but she felt relieved in any case, to have been given the ward where she felt most at home.

"Chang, here please."

A voice called her, as soon as the doors to the lift opened. The disarray up here was different. It was not as physical as the bustle of people downstairs, waiting to be seen and directed; but it assaulted Cho with ten times the force.

Up here, were all the people directly affected by The War. She knew many of them; their faces strange and unrecognizable with grief. There had been so many visitors that the hospital had not been able to keep them at bay, so they sat, consoling and heartbroken outside the neat numbered doors, practically lining the walls.

Cho felt her legs begin to tingle as her heart started to beat with dizzying speed. This is what she had dreaded.

She forced herself to walk tall, and tried not to meet their eyes, knowing if she did, she would be sucked into the familiar well of hopelessness; she would betray her weakness. She was here to _help_- _to care for them_, she reminded herself. She felt faint.

She crossed the short hallway in what felt like slow motion, and stood in front of Healer Stout.

"Very good, right- I need you to check in with patients in rooms ten through twenty-one," he said distractedly, eyes glued to a stack of memos that hovered before him, "make sure they're stable, and tend to any new cases that come in- Mary will let you know when they arrive. I have to join the Healers on the Remedies ward- five more cases of this imitation Cruciatus Curse, and no one knows what to do."

He blinked very red eyes, and Cho wondered if he had slept at all in the three days since the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Right, Sir." She managed to keep her voice clear as she took the stack of memos for rooms 10 - 21, which had separated from the rest as he spoke. He gave her a small and very weary smile of encouragement, and turned for the lifts.

Cho felt absurd, dressed in Healer's robes, and holding a stack of patient files. Like a child playing in her mother's clothes, who had been suddenly scooped up and asked to host a dinner party. _I've trained for this. I know what to do_, she told herself.

She _had _trained of course, but only in the one year since leaving Hogwarts. Healers generally had to study for at least two years, _three_, if they wanted to work on a ward, like she was about to do. The final battle at Hogwarts, and the subsequent outbreaks all over England- not to mention the wild celebration that was now blazing through the country- had called for emergency measures and all possible hands on deck at St. Mungo's.

Like a sleepwalker, she drifted towards the door of room number ten. She didn't recognize the people waiting outside of it, and thankfully did not know the patient either. She was able to hold it together.

Burying her nose in the memo almost the entire time, she was able to re-issue a soothing spell for the angry red burns running down the young man's torso. When she chanced a glance up at him, she saw that his face was a little strained, but his eyes were full of _relief._ More, she thought, for the state of the world rather than his own pain levels, but either way she was comforted.

It was the pain in others that she could not bear. Her greatest fear was that she would walk into a room and be met by a patient she knew, or a patient in so much suffering that she herself would break down, exposing the weakness of heart that she felt sure would be her ruin as a Healer.

She excused herself kindly from the room, and took a deep breath. _There. That wasn't so bad, was it?_

Slowly, throughout the course of the morning, Cho's confidence rose. She lost herself in the little tasks; the cheering charms, the bone binding spells, conjuring water, and summoning food. By 11AM, she felt quite relaxed, and was even able to tend to Hannah Abbot's little sister with a calm hand.

She had worked her way up to room 17 already, and was starting to pride herself on the fact that Healer Stout had given her the whole day to tend to eleven rooms, and here she was, mid-morning and nearly through them all.

She glanced quickly down at the ailment box on the memo. Immitation Cruciatus. There wouldn't be much she could do for this one- short of a dose of pain potion. There was no one waiting outside this room, and she felt a tiny stab of sadness for whoever was inside. She went in.

She was struck by a surge of sickening alarm at the sight of red hair. It was Charlie Weasley. Her throat grew tight and her heart beat painfully somewhere just below it. She had hardly been able to stop thinking about Fred and George Weasley for the past three days. Mortified by the thought of what it might do to him if she burst out in tears, she gripped the cold steel of the door handle as she closed it, and willed herself to remain steady.

He hadn't noticed her enter; he was staring in the other direction, towards a hardly touched plate of home-cooked food. He didn't look over as the door closed with a gentle '_click'_, nor when she took a few steps towards the bed where he lay propped up on a magically enlarged cushion.

"Charlie?"

He turned his head, and Cho could see a distant flicker of recognition in his expression. She had been in his company only a few times before, but he gave her a very strained half-smile of greeting all the same.

" 'Lo," he said, a little hoarsely.

"I…" she trailed away softly, not knowing what to say. She had _hated_ hearing 'I'm so sorry for your loss…' over and over again when Cedric had died, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

He smiled the half-smile again.

"Some Firewhiskey would be nice." He shifted his bodyweight on the pillow, wincing slightly.

"Do you need more pain potion?" She asked immediately. He shook his head,

"Nah- 'ts not that bad."

She knew he was lying by the very fact that the same curse he was experiencing had a man crying out in perpetual pain a floor below, and a woman sobbing feverishly just two doors down. It was new magic that was baffling the Healers- called the 'Imitation Cruciatus' because of the similar effects it had on the nervous system. Except where the Cruciatus Curse electrified a person's whole system in bursts, this curse was what Healer Smethwyck called 'a slow burn'. She bit the inside of her lip, dithering.

"Well, I at least need to take a look." She crossed the room quickly, mustering her sense of authority, "Where were you hit?"

Distantly, he motioned to his ribcage on the right side, paling a bit at the effort. There was an awkward pause as she wondered what to do about his shirt- simple professional tasks were always much more ungainly when you _knew_ the patient. Seeming to understand, he eased his arms up to unbutton the crisp hospital shirt himself.

"No, no- I'll do it," Cho waved his hands away after only a button or two, when he wasn't able to hide his blanch of pain. He dropped his arms, and was silent as she finished the task. Underneath, the effects of the curse were glaringly obvious against his fair skin. Dark purple lines streamed from a single bruised patch over his ribcage, mapping out the spidery webs of his nervous system- all the way down his stomach and around his back. Cho frowned at them, wondering for the third time today what kind of a curse could possibly cause such a physical display. She ran her finger gently over the bullseye bruise, and he drew in a sharp breath.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, eyes wide. "I need you to tell me if the pain worsens as I travel down the lines, okay?"

He nodded vaguely, and she ran her finger along the web from his ribcage out to the center of his back, where the lines faded and disappeared. He grimaced, staring down at the bedclothes. Then he shook his head,

"No… it's not as bad the further out you go. Just in the center."

Cho nodded encouragingly, feeling relieved,

"Okay, good! That's really good." She made a note on the memo still hovering beside her.

"Oh, good," he repeated, faintly. She saw the attempted half-smile again, but only momentarily. His face still retained its natural, good-natured expression, but it stopped at his eyes. Those were unguarded, and filled with sorrow. Cho's heart ached unbearably. Here she was- bumbling around uselessly- and here he was, her _patient_- full to the brim of pain and still trying to humor _her _with a smile.

"Is there anything else I can do?" she asked, knowing the answer, and wishing there was something better she could offer him.

He shook his head with a soft 'Thanks'.

She nodded and tried to smile warmly. Then she turned to go. At the door however, she stopped; it was awfully dim and gloomy in this room. She remembered a day in the summer before her sixth year, just after Cedric's murder. She had not left her room for days- sick with shock and grief, the weight of what had happened had seemed to press down on her unbearably whenever she ventured from the safety of her bed. She had drawn the blinds tightly closed, and just sat in that dim light for _days_. Until one day her mother had come in, and instead of trying to talk to her, she had simply opened the curtains, and left a bouquet of beautiful fragrant flowers on Cho's desk. And to her surprise, these two small things, those tiny acts of kindness, had been the first drops of life back in her veins.

In Room 17, Cho turned and walked resolutely to the window.

She pulled open the dull blue curtains, and tied them back with their matching sashes, into tidy bows. She heard a grunt from the bed, and looked over to see Charlie squinting in the sudden spring sunlight.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, "aren't I meant to rest? Looking out on a war isn't exactly my idea of relaxation."

"Nonsense," she replied, quietly but firmly, "The worst is over. It's light again."

He gave her a look bordering on a glare, but it too was halted at his eyes.

She thought for a second, and upon deciding, conjured a bouquet of fire red Anthuriums next to the plate of cold food. Then she left.

* * *

A/N-

Don't be shy- leave any comments, questions, or constructive criticism you may have!


	2. Part 2

**Part Two: Ogden's Olds**

* * *

Morning turned to afternoon in a rush of papers, burns, fractures, and jinxes. Cho left room 21 and darted down to the kitchens to grab a quick lunch for her rumbling stomach. She had been too nervous to eat that morning, but after a few hours of quite literally 'getting her hands dirty', most of her fears about diving into Healing had dissipated. She returned to the Fourth Floor to find Healer Stout still gone, so she went over to the blonde girl sitting at the reception desk instead.

"Mary?" she asked, and the young witch looked up from her magazine. Mary actually looked like she was a few years older than Cho, but Cho was always forgetting how young she herself was. She hadn't felt truly young for years. "I was just wondering…"

_What I'm supposed to be doing now…_ didn't quite sound right.

"I was just wondering if there is anything else that needs to be seen to while Healer Stout is gone." She smiled sheepishly at the big blue eyes, which reminded her of Luna Lovegood. Mary grinned knowingly back and said gently,

"Well, it's quieted down heaps. Usually Resident Healers attend to any re-stocking until it's time to do rounds again. And Madame Bloomfield is schedule to be discharged in an hour, so we will probably use her room for a temporary clinic as the actual clinic is packed today." Cho nodded gratefully, and went to the potions room to check on the supply of all their remedies. Unsurprisingly, they were shockingly low, and she busied herself for the next hour with setting cauldrons to brew more pain, sleep, and regrowth potions.

The faces and exchanges she had had today flew through her mind as she worked. Everyone had lost so much. There was relief in the air, but it was still eclipsed by grief. She hadn't met one person today whose eyes had not been haunted. Even she herself, lucky as she had been to not loose any family or close friends, had lost more classmates, acquaintances and people she loved from a distance, than she could count. Charlie Weasley stuck in her mind most sharply.

The Weasleys knew how to breed _vibrance_, and from what she remembered from her first year at Hogwarts, and from the few times she had been around Charlie since, his liveliness of spirit was bested only by Fred and George. And that was the thing about vibrant personalities- they could fill an entire room with life so easily, that when they were suddenly muted, everyone around them could feel the tangible void of their loss.

Her heart ached for him- for his parents, for _George_… for Collin Creevey, for Natasha Bones, for Professors Lupin and Burbage. The soothing steams and perfumes of the brewing potions moistened the air, so her tears didn't feel so stark on her cheeks. She told herself she would be stronger when she left the stock room, and let her defenses come down for a few minutes.

Upon leaving, she _did_ in fact feel stronger. On Mary's directions, she headed for the new 'clinic' in room 21.

When she entered the room, it was to the sounds of a raucous pub. Three young men sat, spun in the swiveling chair, and stood on the bed, respectively, all belting a drinking song at the top of their lungs. They reached a crescendo as she stood slightly shocked in the doorway, and cheered when they saw her.

"Good DAY, healer… Chung," slurred the one atop the bed, wobbling with the effort of honing in on her name tag.

"Chang," she corrected him warily, closing the door behind her. She did not need to look at the memo that hovered beside her to see why they were here; the speaker's shirt was unbuttoned and open, revealing the most peculiar rash she had ever seen. "Is that-"

"- Mice." He gave her a sober look which quickly caved into a sloppy smile.

"How did this happen?" She asked professionally, trying to cover up her momentary awe.

"Well! _Do you believe it_- I was HEXED by a very saucy young minx in the bleedin' street! All for asking if she fancied a drink."

"And a shag," coughed his friend in the swivel chair.

Cho suppressed a smile and nodded seriously.

"Damn things squeak like mad whenever I get too close," the afflicted slurred on, unperturbed, "one even bit me!"

He held up a wavering, swollen index finger.

"Din't trust the lads to put it right-" he motioned her closer and said in a theatrical whisper that blew a gust of what smelled like pure whiskey into her face, " 'fraid _they've overindulged_."

"I see," she said calmly, taking his finger to inspect it, "Well, no lasting damage here- I suppose you're lucky she didn't make them Doxies."

"Noo, lass," he said wryly, "I'm lucky she aimed a bit high off her _mark_!"

She couldn't suppress a laugh at this. Swinging into action, she dabbed dittany and anti-swell onto his finger, and inspected the rash of little white mice heads covering his stomach. A cross between a fununculus jinx and a squeaking spell, she suspected. A few waves of her wand as she pondered counter jinxes, and his paunch was mice-free.

"There you go, Mr. O'Reilly, good as new," she smiled at him.

"Oooh, now lass, put those dimples away before I faint- I can't be taking up more of you Healer's precious time," he grinned sloppily as he left the room, the other two men stumbling out after him.

Cho shook her head with amusement, quite pleased at the glimpse of the celebrations outside that their little party had provided. She did a quick disinfecting spell on the areas where they had been sitting, and straightened the bedcovers. Something resting half-concealed by the mussed pillow caught her eye. She picked it up, feeling the nudge of happy coincidence.

It was a small, nearly full bottle, of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.

* * *

The makeshift clinic kept Cho busy for hours straight- by the time she had a spare minute to check the time, it was already quarter to five. She didn't mind at all, however, as the patients directed to the clinic were only those who would take up less than 15 minutes of the Healer's time. This meant that Cho got a happy break from those patients seriously injured from the war, and dealt purely with the colorful side effects of mad jubilation . She deflated limbs, re-transfigured faces, and set countless drinking accidents right, until she felt as though her wand arm was about to fall off.

She took a five minute bathroom break from her shift, taking her time running her hands under the hot stream of water in the Healer's washroom. As soon as she opened the door back out to the hallway, she could feel that something had changed. The guffawing and chattering line of people she had left were no where to be found. Instead, as she approached room 21, she heard sobs and whimpers leaking through the thin walls. That familiar foreboding, the dread of what she was about to find behind the door, swelled in her abdomen.

She pushed the door open and saw a horror-stricken family clustered around a small brown-haired girl.

"What's happened?" She asked immediately, crouching down in front of the child.

"The C-cruciatus Curse," sobbed the woman who Cho could tell was the girl's mother. "Death Eaters- they were storming our neighborhood in Hogsmeade, and she was playing in the yard. B-but, she's just a child! And they wouldn't stop. _They wouldn't stop_. She's not right- It was an hour ago and she- _she's still not right_-"

The woman started crying too hard to be understood, and her husband pulled her against his chest. Cho turned sharp eyes on the girl, noting that the young eyes were wild and almost inhuman with pain and shock to her nervous system.

"Shhh, shhh," she whispered pleadingly to the girl, taking her hands, "it's alright. You're alright now. I need you to look at me, darling."

The girl turned her mad eyes on Cho, who felt sick with dismay. She knew of cases like this, and she could tell the girl was out of control from something more than trauma. You just _couldn't_ subject a developing body to something as savage as the Cruciatus Curse without lasting damage. Her hands feeling numb, she rose, and walked over to the cupboard to extract some pain potion. Pouring it out slowly into a small bowl, she brought it to the girl and raised it to her lips.

"Drink this, sweetheart," she said softly, locking eyes with the girl, who jerked and twitched with the effort of holding her gaze. Messily, the girl managed to swallow most of the potion, spluttering and gagging. Cho rubbed her back until she was satisfied that it had gone down alright. "There. That's better, isn't it?"

The girl blinked up at her, eyes wide with confusion and hurt. Her pupils dilated and contracted as if they were breathing and her feet jiggled uncontrollably. Cho brushed the light brown hair away from her sweet face and tried to smile reassuringly.

Telling her parents was the worst bit. They all stepped calmly out of the room, where her mother instantly fell to pieces at the look on Cho's face. Cho tried to be optimistic, but they had to know that it was most likely that their daughter would never be quite the same again.

A half-hour later, she left the sleeping girl with her grieving family, and walked like a zombie back down the hall. There was nothing worse than when something horrible happened to someone too innocent to understand _why_.

Exhausted, Cho could feel bedtime creeping over the hospital. Early as it was, in a hospital, patients and families naturally became quiet and restful as soon as the sun began to dim. Her nerves were stretched to a point she didn't think was possible. First a war, and now _this_. She felt overwhelmed and a little crazy.

Her feet had carried her to Room 17, and without a second thought, she went brazenly in.

Charlie _did_ look round when she entered this time, and her fried brain distantly registered that as a good sign of his health. He smiled at her in that pained sort of way again, and she felt a strange and unexpected temper flare in her. She walked over to him, and began unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling a little.

"And without so much as 'Hello'," he joked horsely, somewhere near her ear. She looked up tiredly, and upon seeing her vexed expression, he _really_ smiled. She eased his shirt open, and ran her fingers over the strange bruised lines underneath.

"How is it now?" She asked, pressing a firm line from his ribs around to his spine. She knew the answer immediately from the way his muscles spasmed under her hands, and from the choked groan that he unsuccessfully bit back.

"_Christ_. Not bloody good," he breathed. Cho frowned, biting the inside of her lip.

"Worse?"

"A bit," he grimaced, trying to ease out from under her hands, "-though that might be the pain potion finally wearing off. They gave me some when I came in, while I was unconscious."

"I don't see why you don't just let me give you some more," Cho said, not able to keep the irritation from her voice. Charlie looked at her, and she saw his eyes soften. A flicker of fear passed across them, and he looked down, shaking his head.

"No, I told you, I'm fine." He smiled suddenly, lopsidedly, "Though I really wasn't kidding about that Firewhiskey."

Cho hesitated for a moment. Then she reached into her Healer's robes.

"I didn't think you were." She held out the bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey with a dry smile. Charlie's eyes widened with surprise.

"Crikey!" he said loudly, with a booming laugh. She grinned. There was the Weasley Vibrance. She levitated the empty food tray to hover over his lap, and set the bottle down. Then she summoned a small beaker from the cabinet above the sink.

"Just don't over-do it," she said, a little pleadingly, "this hospital is already overflowing with drunken wizards."

He chuckled, spirits considerably lifted. Feeling lifted herself, Cho made to leave.

"You can't leave me to drink all by myself now," he sounded indignant. Cho turned back around, a little surprised. Charlie cracked a charming grin. And then a comically desperate face.

"Alright," Cho said. Then her eyes widened. '_I can't, I'm still on my shift!'_ - is what she had _fully_ intended to say. Charlie looked surprised too. But he also looked genuinely pleased, and for that, Cho threw caution to the wind. She summoned another small beaker from the cabinet and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Right," Charlie said, pouring out two measures of Ogden's, "to the best Healer I've seen all day. Cheers for this."

He raised his glass to her, and she raised hers as well. They drank.

The whiskey actually felt like the perfect thing to Cho. _Just what the Healer ordered_, she thought wryly. It burned a warm path down her chest, instantly making her feel more grounded. She looked up at Charlie, and could tell it was easing his pain.

"So," he said, finishing his measure and pouring another, "who are all these drunken wizards wandering about the hospital?"

Cho smiled.

"Oh, well. Everyone's celebrating, you know. And on a scale like this, that leads to _many_ amusing mishaps with no one sober enough to put them right," she looked at him matter-of-factly, "which means lots of minor work for me."

"I bet they don't mind being seen to by you," Charlie said with a smirkingly raised eyebrow, "you might actually be the Healer of every drunken wizard's dreams."

Cho shrugged, going a little pink. She had in fact been told that very thing today by two such drunken wizards, in varying degrees of coherence. Charlie grinned knowingly. He seemed both relaxed and distressed from the drink. She could tell that it was dulling his pain considerably, but she could also tell that _that_ was heightening his anxiety considerably.

"Why won't you take the pain potion?" She asked abruptly.

He looked at her and his grin died on his face. The emotional turmoil underneath peeked out at her as he searched her eyes for a moment. Apparently deciding he could speak honestly, he let out a slow breath, looking suddenly hollow.

"This pain," he ran a hand over his ribs, "is nothing to what I'll feel when it's gone. For years to come. For now, it's a damn welcome distraction."

His eyes were unguarded and she could see fear and dread looking back at her. She remembered _that_ feeling all too well. The absolute terror of letting your distractions go. The dread of knowing the unsurmountable heartache that's lurking patiently behind it all.

She nodded slowly, realizing with a flush that her eyes had filled with tears.

"Don't," he whispered, shaking his head.

Cho looked down at her nearly empty beaker. She raised it to her lips and finished it, then held it out for Charlie to pour her another. They sat in a silence that held no discomfort, for a full minute or two. Outside, the sun had nearly set, and Cho could see that the sky was red and full of backlit clouds.

"When I was young," Charlie spoke suddenly, his voice low, "Fred and George somehow charmed the water in the kettle to turn into sparks while I was making tea… so when I poured it out, it basically spit hot sparks out all over me, see." He looked up at her, "I don't know why, but for some reason I wasn't mad- I thought it was bloody brilliant."

He smiled sadly and continued with a shrug,

"Maybe it was a sign of my future career choices, I don't know. But they were only five, and it really _was_ bloody brilliant. And I pour with caution ever since that day, mind. I always think of them…"

Cho's heart ached with the familiarity of his feelings. He looked at her searchingly again, boyish and beseeching.

"I'm afraid I'll never be able to look at a bloody _kettle_ again."

Cho nodded, feeling tears spill down her cheeks. His eyes filled as well, and he looked down, breathing deeply and clearing his throat. Cho took his hand in both of hers, squeezing gently.

"You should look," she said quietly, "as often as you can. It- it get better. Once the awful shock wears away. It gets bearable, and you just…"

She broke off, searching for words. He had raised his eyes to hers again, drinking her words in,

"You just grow to be able to hold it all. Your grief. You'll still feel it, but it will be there _with_ all kinds of other things. Good things. You'll _want_ to look and remember and celebrate the time you had."

He nodded, looking like only a very small part of him understood. She knew he would learn in his own time- he would be okay. He seemed to realize that Cho was crying a steady stream of tears, and reached out to brush them away. She let him, feeling completely comfortable under the spell of Firewhiskey and broken hearts.

"Don't cry," he murmured, although she could see a shining track running down the left side of his face. She bit her lip, but knew it would take her a few minutes to stop.

"I'm sorry, I'm being an awful professional," she laughed a little bitterly. He smiled,

"_Well_, no, you're not being very professional, but that's why you're so good at this."

"At what?" she asked, blankly. He smiled again,

"At Healing," he made a small gesture to her official robes. Cho shook her head, feeling fresh tears leak from her eyes.

"No," she chuckled sadly, "I'm not very good at this, I'm afraid. I'm too… sensitive. Too weak."

Charlie looked at her for a long moment, his eyes full of sweetness. Then he took her hand and leaned towards her so she couldn't look away,

"_That's_ what makes a good Healer. You can dole out potions and perform counter-curses all you like, but someone who you can tell _feels_ what you're going through- someone who _cares_ about your pain like it's their own. That's amazing, Cho. That's what really heals people."

She blinked wetly at him, finding the honesty in his eyes.

Their hands were still clasped, and a tension was growing in the room. Cho felt her heart pound in a different way than it had all day, as something else shifted in Charlie's eyes. At almost the same time, they released each other's hands. Cho smiled apologetically at him,

"I should go. I have to get back to rounds."

He nodded his full understanding and smiled back. She levitated the Firewhiskey and tray onto the bedside table and sent the beakers back to their cabinet with a conspiratorial wink at him. He grinned. She turned and walked towards the door.

"Cho." He sounded sleepy, and she felt happy at the thought of him able to rest, "Thank you."

She met his eyes for a few seconds.

"Thank_ you_, Charlie."

And she left.


End file.
